


The nights are mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And a lot of feels, Friends With Benefits, Grantaire is in love and Enjolras has no idea, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn, Porn With Feels, Smut, also angst, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Take off your shirt”, he mumbles, and his voice is barely more than a desire-soaked groan now, “I want to see you.”<br/>It doesn't matter that Enjolras is their leader; when they are together like this, somehow he ends up being ordered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The nights are mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say. I will go down with this ship.  
> Also kudos to the Arctic Monkeys for providing such an exquisite title.  
> (It's from Do I wanna know?, and you could totally use it as the soundtrack for this fic. The guitar riff does things to me...)  
> Writing prompts go here: rebooting-is-for-cheesecakes.tumblr.com  
> Love, Liz x

There are many things Grantaire doesn't dare to say when it's light.

Of course, none of his friends would believe him if he ever told them: Grantaire is about the bluntest person they know. Well, they don't know everything, not even Éponine.

“Would you please just shut up and _kiss me_?”

This in itself is not a thing too sensitive to say at day-time.

But he says it to _him_.

And Enjolras is only too happy to obey, being pulled down at the loose cravat around his neck. Grantaire claims his mouth, brushes his tongue against his lips to ask for entrance and takes it anyway when Enjolras is too slow to react.

“You're so fucking beautiful” he moans against his ear, pulling at the golden curls with rough hands. Enjolras swallows hard, moves closer to Grantaire, if that is still possible at this point. He unbuttons Grantaire's shirt with clumsy fingers, and after a while he simply gives up, having barely reached the middle. Grantaire doesn't mind. He pulls the shirt over his head, flings the cravat in some distant corner of his room, and shoves Enjolras on his bed.

They never waste time; the moments they have fly by too fast for them to linger. Enjolras grips Grantaire and practically lifts him on top of him, always using his own height and Grantaire's delicate structure to his advantage. Grantaire doesn't mind whatsoever. He straddles Enjolras and bows down, sucking the sport right below his left ear. The mark there never really fades, and he knows he shouldn't be proud, but he is.

In the meantime, Enjolras has sneaked his hand into Grantaire's trousers; when he cups him, the dark-haired man gives a startled cry which dies out in Enjolras's mouth when he pulls him down to him.

“Take off your shirt”, he mumbles, and his voice is barely more than a desire-soaked groan now, “I want to _see_ you.”

It doesn't matter that Enjolras is their leader; when they are together like this, somehow he ends up being ordered.

Grantaire whimpers when Enjolras retreats his warm hand to obey, but his eyes widen when he strips off his white shirt and reveals the smooth skin underneath, only broken by some cluttered scars. Grantaire would love to trace every single one with his tongue, to kiss them until Enjolras comes apart under his mouth. He nearly does, now. The dark-haired man sneaks his way down over his chest, across his flat stomach, until his lips are caressing the light dip on his right hip bone.

Enjolras reaches out for him, pulling him up and flopping Grantaire onto his back in one fluid movement. He hovers over him, and all Grantaire sees is Enjolras, _his_ Enjolras.

At least he is his right now.

Unfortunately, that's not enough. It will never be.

“Not this time” Enjolras murmurs, running a hand through Grantaire's hair, plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“Let's...together.”

“Sounds good to me” Grantaire chokes, and Enjolras smiles and he is lost.

They strip completely as if they were being chased by a pack of hounds; both all too eager to get back to their lover. When they crash against each other again, heated skin meets, and both of them struggle to not come there and then.

“You're so good” Grantaire mutters affirmatively, teasing his hand over Enjolras's rips while the other grips him again, starting to stroke him with a light, but steady touch. “ _So_ good.”

Enjolras bites back a moan, bites Grantaire's lower lip instead and smiles when he tastes blood. He has Grantaire in his hand, warm, pulsing, and moves faster.

The next minutes are filled with incoherent mutterings and moans, rough kisses and the inevitable clatter of teeth meeting once in a while, followed by a short curse.

“God, Enjolras, for France's sake, don't stop!” He clenches his jaw when he comes, his hand gripping Enjolras more tightly. It is enough to kick him over the edge as well, and he spills over Grantaire's hand and on his stomach.

Enjolras manages to collapse next to Grantaire and not directly on top of him, face half-buried in the pillow, but keeping his gaze on the dark-haired man.

“You are amazing” Grantaire mumbles, breathing heavily, while he picks up his shirt from the floor to clean himself up. He would have needed to wash it anyway.

Enjolras smiles sleepily, and it is too soon for the usual look of annoyance to return into his eyes when he faces Grantaire. Grantaire cherishes these moments; they are short enough.

He throws an arm across his waist, moving up close to him, curling around the taller man's body although the heat is nearly killing him.

 _I love you_ , he mouths into Enjolras's shoulder blade, hoping he doesn't notice.

There are things he doesn't even dare to say at night.


End file.
